Odes have been sung and stories have been told
of a land that God touched long, long ago.
A land that shone like a beacon of light
for the restless souls that came to call you home.
This is a land where the children play
and the spirits of the past dance with joy in the moonlight.

Oh New scotland your beauty is a sight to behold.
I feel at peace as waves of silken black crash
upon your shores of ancient stone.
The wind sings a song to the sea
as the waves make their way home.

I sit upon your crown of moss and watch
as a white mist rolls in from the North
and the sea moans its siren song.
I wrap myself in woolen fare
as the mist envelops the shore.
This is your womb that calls me home.

Oh New Scotland your land within is blessed
as no land was blessed before.
Your fields of green sway in a breeze from the coast
as horses and cattle graze in the sun.
Old sol laughs out loud as horse named Paint gallops
and winnes out loud as it mane flows in the air.
How happy it must be to run in a land so free.

I watch as the harvest begins
and the land gives up its bounty once again.
The hay is rolled on to fields of golden brown
as man and beast welcome the coming frost.
This land that is so alive
will be at peace as a carpet of snow embellishes its fields.

Oh New Scotland the air is alive
with the music of your past.
Your fiddles and pipes call to me
from distant places of my mind.
I can sing your song of hope
as the pipes draw me near.
I dance a jig as never before
and sing a song that your forefathers
lived to sing and die for.

Odes have been sung and stories have been told
of a land that God touched long, long ago.